Yesterday morning Susanne and I headed out to the Prudential Center to join the crowd that had gathered to see Bill Clinton at his only Boston-area book signing event. According to the bookstore's website, Clinton would sign books starting at 1pm that day, so we wondered just how early we'd have to get there in order to see him and get a book signed. We decided to leave around 10:30am, which would get us there before 11am -- three hours to stand in line and maybe catch sight of the former prez if we weren't too late in the queue.
After packing ourselves Tokyo-style in a crowded trolley, we rode a couple stops from Brookline to Boston, then walked a few blocks up Newbury before turning right towards the Prudential Center. The Pru was crowded with people, and we weren't sure if they were all going to the book signing or not. The fact that the flow of bodies was heading in the general direction of the Barnes and Noble wasn't a good sign. When we got to the inner courtyard, Susanne noticed a very long queue of people in the outer courtyard - perhaps 500 of them. A bookstore staffer and a security guard were directing people towards the back of the line, tying red bracelets around each person's right wrist. "You will need a red bracelet and a book in order to meet Clinton," the staffer said. "If you get out of the line and no one holds a place for you, you'll have to go to the back of the line."
Fortunately the event was scheduled on the finest day Boston had seen in a couple weeks -- 70 degrees and breezy with low humidity. We were actually somewhat chilly in the line, standing in the shadow of the Pru, but as the sun moved across the southern horizon, we soon found ourselves in a pleasantly warm spot, watching waves of wind stroke the acre of perfectly manicured grass in the center of the courtyard.
Just after 12pm, the line started to move; the Secret Service had finished their security sweep of the book store, and the first 125 people were brought inside. The line grew steadily behind us as we moved forward; well over 1000 people were in the courtyard, though only the first 1000 would be guaranteed the chance to get a book signed. The line stopped hard at 1pm; Clinton was now inside and signing books, and security personnel would only allow groups of people inside 25 at a time. So we spent the next hour sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the sun, the shadow of the Pru too small to protect us now.
Entertainment was provided by a group of Lyndon LaRouche supporters. About 30 of them arrived with posters sporting messages like "Will Cheney postpone the election?" and "Future generations will want an open convention." The LaRouchies then started to sing songs. From a distance, the songs sounded like Russian choral work, actually quite pretty. But as the protesters approached us, the tone of the singing started to remind me of Maoist martial parade songs. "La-Rouche, La-Rouche," they sang, practically stealing the "Marchons, Marchons!" refrain from La Marseillaise.
"It's a little too Red Guard for my taste," Susanne said.
"I almost expect to see little uniformed Chinese girls to appear, dancing with oversized flags."
By 2:20pm we made it inside the building, where we were asked to check our bags and submit to an electronic wand search. The process felt like we were entering an airport, except the secret service agent who waved the wand over us was much friendlier, explaining the do's and don't's of meeting a president. (Example: For the love of God, don't put your hands in your pocket when you approach the president.)
We weaved through the book store, aisle by aisle. At this point we were making a steady walk, as if we'd just climbed aboard a conveyor belt. Bill Clinton was seated on a raised platform, behind a table, next to the cafe. The room was draped in black, with strategically placed lights from above given the former president an oddly angelic look. He was wearing an Italian suit with a perfectly knotted pink tie.
"He's lost weight," Susanne said as we moved closer in the queue.
"You can see it in his neck," I replied. "Look at the extra space in his collar."
Reaching the cafe, we got a quick preview of the literary assembly line. First, a Barnes and Noble staffer made sure your book was open to the proper page. To her left, a Secret Service agent served as traffic cop, deciding when you would step up to the raised platform. Next, an assistant would take your book, pass it to another Secret Service agent, who passed it to the president. Clinton would simultanously shake your hand with his right hand and sign your book with his left; after greeting you and thanking you for coming, he might offer five or six seconds of small talk before you were whisked off the platform and away from Clinton.
As we got closer and closer, I debated whether to ask him to inscribe the book to me and Susanne; my plan had been not to, given the mechanized slaughterhouse precision of the book-signing process, but I noticed Clinton appeared to pause and take special requests from at least two other people ahead of us. What the hell, I thought to myself; the worst thing he'll say is no.
The Secret Service agent gave me the nod to approach the platform. I climbed several steps, handing my book to another agent, who slid it to someone else, who slid it to the president as he finished shaking hands with the person ahead of me. A moment or so later I was standing in front of Clinton, shaking his hand.
"Nice to see you," he said, shaking my hand with somewhat more firmness than you'd expect from someone who had to do this 1000 times in the course of a few hours.
"Nice to see you as well, Mr. President," I replied. "I was wondering if you would inscribe the book to Andy and Susanne -- that's S-U-S-A-"
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't do that," he interrupted, a look of sadness in his eyes as he lifted the pen away from the book. "I'm not allowed."
"To keep the line moving," a Secret Service agent added, tapping me on the shoulder to move along.
"Nice to see you," Clinton repeated, now shaking Susanne's hand behind me.
So that was that. A 200-minute wait to see Bill Clinton, only to hear him give his best imitation of HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey.... -ac
Posted by acarvin at July 26, 2004 12:41 PM | TrackBack